


Regarding Jane

by Pronunciation_Hermy_One



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gangsters, HarrytheDog, Romance, Suspense, gANGSTerFluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 08:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17936117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pronunciation_Hermy_One/pseuds/Pronunciation_Hermy_One
Summary: AU: Hermione Longbottom nee Granger barely escaped the life of crime she was born into as the daughter of the head of the Granger Family, finding protection with Neville Longbottom, the only family more powerful. But when her husband is murdered and all fingers point toward her, can a face from the past she thought long gone save them both?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What an absolute treat it was to explore the worlds of Dramione and Muggle AU for the first time with this exchange! Thank you, truly, to the moderators for all of their hard work and the opportunity to participate! 
> 
> I'd loved to have elaborated, embellished and enumerated further, but alas 16,000 words later, my darling beta Frumpologist (and my delicious sister Erin, basking in the glow of newly appointed motherhood) and I struggled heartily to keep it within the 15,000 word limit. Adjectives and articles tossed to the wind, it squeaks in at word count by the skin of its teeth. Love to you, dear readers! <3

A cold breeze hits damp skin and she’s pretty sure her already goosepimpled flesh now has entirely new goosepimples of its own. She vomits into the porcelain sink, the lone bulb lighting the room is swaying overhead, casting shadows on the stained floor and peeling walls. Morning sickness. An odd term for something that lasts all day, and as she’s now in her seventh month, seemingly forever.

“Cheers, Nev.”

She’s chuckling bitterly as she spits, wipes her mouth and pulls her hair off of her neck again, trying it atop her head. She can’t stay much longer, but the nausea has been unbearable. She knows if she doesn’t move on soon, she’ll be in even more danger.

Lightning streaks across the sky and thunder shakes the walls. She’s fairly certain the ceiling may cave in on her from the weight of the rain pelting against it.

Sliding her arms into the jacket, she buttons it. It’s getting tighter around her midsection ever day and she splays her hand across her stomach.

“What a world this is, little one. You’ll see.”

She shoulders the bag from the floor and clicks her tongue. “C’mon, Harry.”

The soft click of his nails on the wooden floor are the only indication he’s there as she switches off the light. When she reaches down he nuzzles her hand with his nose. The door opens, and they slip soundlessly back into the dark.

 

••••••••••

 

“What do you mean, Mr. Malfoy?”

He stares at him balefully and it takes everything in him not to slit his throat where he stands. “Precisely what I’ve said, Gre— Mr. Goyle. When I arrived, it was empty.”

“That is impossible. I received extremely reliable intel that she was there.”

Draco shrugs. “Perhaps they should have done the job themselves when they had sights on her.”

“I’m sorry, Draco.” He slouches in his chair. “I just want her found. I’m… overcome with grief at the loss of my best friend, my mentor. I’m beside myself trying to keep things running, to make him proud. To keep us all safe.”

Draco nods. “Will that be all, Mr. Goyle?”

Gregory is staring at him. “And now that I sit in this chair, do I not have your allegiance, Draco? Do you not serve me as you served him?”

“I live to serve the family, Mr. Goyle.”

“I am the family now. Your advice, your skills were invaluable to Neville. I cannot be given cause to question your loyalty, Draco. I cannot allow the murmurings of weakness to encroach upon us and rock the foundation. There are those around us who would take advantage of such rumblings. You will need to be equally as invaluable to me.”

“Are you threatening me, Gregory?” Draco is amused, his stance relaxed as he leans against the door and a small smile plays on his lips.

“I was simply confirming your allegiance to the family did not end with the passing of Mr. Longbottom.”

Pushing off from the door, he straightens and strides to the desk. “I’ve never had my character questioned before, Mister Goyle. Will you be needing anything else?”

Goyle is pouring himself another drink now, the amber liquid running over the iced cubes, reflecting the soft light in the room. “Find her, Mr. Malfoy. Find her and bring her to me.”

“For the murder of her husband.”

Gregory nods, lifting his glass into the air. “For the murder of the great Neville Longbottom.”

Draco turns on his heel and glides from the room, down the stairs and onto the wet street below. Something doesn’t add up, it doesn’t feel right and he’s left feeling unsettled.

He’d been too late. Neville called him that evening, made him promise to be over first thing in the morning. He needed to discuss a few matters. Bring a bag. They’d be leaving for awhile.

The next time the phone rang it was him again. He’d never heard him sound so afraid before. He’d hung up the phone and flown from his flat as quickly as his feet would carry him. But his efforts were futile. He’d arrived in time to find him there, drowning in a pool of his own blood.

The sounds still haunt his sleep. The gurgling of blood filling his throat and airway. A few words, barely distinguishable.

He’d been hunting her ever since.

Draco wants to hear it from her, he wants to see the words fall from her lips. He wants to watch her beg, his hands tightening around her throat as he crushes her windpipe. Sorry won’t save her. Apologies make no amends. She has killed his best friend, the man he respected more than any other. And she will pay.

The door clicks silently closed behind him as he sheds his coat and hangs his hat on the rack. He turns the kettle on and walks toward the phone.

“Connect me to Number 4 Pansy Lane, Nott residence, please.”

 

••••••••••

 

The morning light is filtered through the dusty old sheet she’s hung from the window pane. She glances to her finger as she flexes her hand, dried blood has scabbed and it’s red and hot. She rolls her eyes. It’s probably infected.

Rolling to her feet, she groans and grabs a bottle of whiskey as she walks toward the loo. A faint hiss escapes her as she peels back the scab, pouring the whiskey over it and then wrapping it in the cleanest cloth she can find.

“Should’ve done that last night.” She yawns. But she’d been tired. She is always tired these days. She’s perched on the toilet seat and her eyes are drifting closed when she suddenly jumps.

“Oh!” She lays a hand across her rounded belly. “Good morning, little one.” She smiles. “You are getting stronger.”

She stands, running the tap and stripping the dressing gown from her shoulders. “You’d have loved every second of this, Nev.”

Fat tears sting her eyes as the water beats down on her tense shoulders. “You should bloody well be here.”

Harry’s head appears over the side of the tub and she smiles at him. “I’m alright, boy.”

He whines and lifts his paw toward her. She leans down to scratch behind his ear and finishes rinsing. “What do you say we grab breakfast before we head on?”

His ears twitch and she laughs. “Orange juice. Fresh squeezed.” She hums, closing her eyes. “Like Nev used to make me. And bacon. A stack of it, extra crispy, just the way he liked.”

She’s dry now and looks around the tiny room. A single bag sits on the floor, all of her belongings in the world. It’s comical really, the way life changed overnight. Neville had let her want for nothing. Which was ironic, because all she really wanted was him. The rest had been exhausting, nothing she ever desired.

Pinning her hair securely, she settles her hat on her head and clips Harry’s leash to his neck. “Right, then. Breakfast, airport, and a new life for us, boy.” She rubs a hand across her stomach and smiles. “The three of us.”

 

••••••••••

 

The phone is ringing. He can hear it as he sleeps and rolls over to answer it.

“Malfoy.”

His voice is thick, terrified.

“Mr. Longbottom?”

“Hurry. Come now. You have to help me. She’s—”

The line goes dead.

He has his trousers on, hat in hand, and is out the door in less than a minute. Squeaking tires on wet asphalt. But, it doesn’t matter. He is too late.

The phone is still ringing and he shakes his head, running a hand down his face as he answers.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Malfoy.” A voice so familiar.

He blinks, sitting up straighter. There are voices in the background. Rustling and talking.

“Mrs. Longbottom.”

“I didn’t do it. Neville said... he always said you could be trusted. You have to know I didn’t do it.” Her voice is rushed, it sounds as if she’s been crying. He knows the sound of it, achingly familiar, and yet...

“Where are you?” There’s another woman’s voice shouting in the background. He’s trying to put the pieces together.

“I loved him.”

“Where are you, Mrs. Longbottom?”

“He loved me, Draco. You know I had nothing to do with this.”

“Why did you run?”

“No! Bloody hell. No, we were running… together. He was going to—”

“Here’s your check, dearie. Don’t want to miss your flight.”

She gasps and the line goes dead.

Draco glances at his watch. There’s no time to make calls and she has two hours on him if she’s already near the airport.

His shoes are on and he’s grabbed his jacket and briefcase when he realizes he’s still staring at the phone.

Why risk being caught when she’s so close to free?

His mind is racing as he drives. It’s early enough that traffic is thinner than usual, but his palms are sweating. Voices and visions compete for attention in his head.

Nothing makes sense. Neville worshipped her. He kept her so far removed from business that Draco had only seen her from afar, infrequently at best. Nothing and no one was to disturb her. Whatever she wanted was hers.

“My angel.” Neville had called her.

Angel of death.

The airport is in sight and he leaves the car out front as he races through the building. The airfield lies ahead of him and he races through the double doors at the far side. There are three planes. A queue of people are boarding the closest and he scans their faces intently as he runs.

The second has people exiting it, looking tired and drawn. He passes it quickly, glancing toward the weary travelers as he runs by. He hears the deep bark of a dog ahead and his heart races as his feet pick up speed.

“Harry.”

They’re closing the door and it’s still a good kilometer away from him. The engines are running and the sound is deafening as he sprints toward the plane now taxiing away.

“Sir!”

He shoves a man trying to stop him as he runs onto the airfield.

“Stop that plane!” He cries. He trips and stumbles but continues to run. The plane is picking up speed and turns in front of him. He sees her face, pale and pressed against the window. She’s seen him, her mouth dropping open into a small O of alarm and then he feels the jolt of recognition.

Draco freezes, then is flattened to the ground as the man he had briefly evaded tackles him around the knees. He cannot breathe as her face registers in his mind like a jolt of electricity.

“Hermione.”

 

••••••••••

 

Harry lies sleeping between her feet, but rest continues to eludes her.

She’d known it was him in an instant. Grey eyes, captivating as a storm on thrashing water. Familiar. A warmth unanticipated. And finally, startling recognition.

He had seen her. And he had known.

“We’ll be landing in Singapore shortly.”

Hermione nods in thanks. She’s sweating and her finger is swollen. She removes her gloves and inspects it more closely. After more than a week of air travel, brief nights in hotels and no medical care, it has become clear it is infected. She wraps her coat tighter around her to ward off the chills that threaten to overtake her.

“You’ll be there soon, dearie.” The co-pilot smiles at her as he walks back toward the cabin, offering her a sandwich.

“Just a few more days.” She arches in her seat to stretch her sore muscles.

There have been more than twenty stops since she left London so far. The trip is grueling, her ears pop from the pressure and her back hurts from sitting.

She’d expected to see him at each of their stops. Exiting the first plane, shaking with fright, Harry stayed close to her side. She hadn’t slept a wink that night.

Could she plead her case? Would he listen before acting? Would he even care?

She finishes the sandwich as they’re landing and stuffs the wrapper in her purse.

“We have a day’s delay. They need to run maintenance on the plane. We won’t be leaving tomorrow as scheduled. We’ll leave at twenty hundred hours sharp on Tuesday. Don’t be late.”

The co-pilot grabs her elbow as she passes, gently, but she jumps nonetheless. “Do you need an escort to your lodging, ma’am?”

She shakes her head. “No, thank you. You’re very kind.”

“I cannot imagine allowing my wife to travel such a distance alone, in your condition.”

She smiles resolutely, her eyes stinging. “It will be a joy to be reunited with my husband, soon.”

He nods, watching as she descends the steps onto the ground below. The wind lifts her skirt and pulls at her hat; she pulls her coat tighter to her.

She won’t feel safe until she’s reached her destination, new identities courtesy of Neville. His own will remain untouched, she realizes sharply. It’s suddenly harder to breathe again.

A day’s delay is unwelcome, but after more than a week of travel, the idea of more than a couple of hours sleep, a shower, and few solid meals is appealing. A steadying breath and Harry’s nose against her hip bolster her. She walks out to the busy city.

“Just a few days more, Harry.” She whispers as the sights and sounds of the city envelope them. “We’re almost home.”

 

••••••••••

 

The water is running and he can hear her humming. He’s pressed against the balcony wall. It will be easy. A quick step through the sliding glass door, through the room, into the loo. One bullet. Maybe two for good measure, because he’s angry. She killed his best friend and he’s mad. She wasn’t the woman he once knew. To be fair, he’s mad at himself, too. He should have been there.

It was easy enough to find her. After a week together on planes the passengers knew one another.

“Oh, you’re Mr. Longbottom? She’ll be so surprised to see you. It’s been a long trip alone, all the way to Brisbane, and in her condition. You’ve just missed her. She went ahead to the hotel!”

“Yes, it was… divine intervention, to be able to join her early.”

“You must’ve flown all day and night!”

“Indeed. I am quite tired from the journey. If you would be so kind as to direct me to my wife’s hotel.”

It couldn’t have been easier. He peers around the ledge and exhales heavily. She sounds louder now, no longer humming but singing. It’s a lullaby. And it’s awful. He winces. Like someone is drowning a cat in the tub.

She shuts off the water and he inhales. This should be no different than anyone else. Why does he want to throw up?

The curtain slides back and he takes aim, his weapon raised to her chest. Harry is scratching and whining at the bedroom door.

She gasps.

He gasps.

“No.”

“You’re— you’re—” The gun drops to his side as he steps forward.

“Draco, please! No. I can explain!” His free arm lifts of its own accord, reaching out until his fingers make contact, closing around her throat before she can move.

His voice is a whisper, his eyes ablaze.“You murdered the father of your child?”

“No! It wasn’t me!” She’s gasping, her toes slipping on the wet porcelain of the tub below her as she struggles to stay upright.

“And then you left. You fled. For Australia!”

“Please, let me explain.” She is choking, wet and shaking in the cold air. Her eyes are wide and terrified. She is clawing at his hand.

But she is pregnant. Harry is barking. Draco cannot understand.

“I should kill you here.” He releases her and she sinks to the floor. “I’m supposed to kill you here.”

“Please, Mr. Malfoy.” She is coughing. “He wanted us to be free.”

“Of him?” He kneels on the floor. He cannot even look at her.

“Of the family! He set it all up. He booked everything. He— he wanted a better life, a different life, a safe life for us. He was coming with us. He was going to ask you to come with us!”

“Why didn’t he? I’d have done anything for him.”

“For the same reason he kept me hidden. To keep me safe. To keep us safe.”

“From me?”

“From everyone!” She is sobbing now, curled on the floor of the tub.

He stands and she flinches. It feels like a knife in his heart, a place he hasn’t felt in many years. Not since her. He turns and hands her a towel. “I know who you are, Hermione. Why did you hide from me?”

“Please, just, lets talk. If you don’t believe me, you can kill me later. I cannot fight you. You know this to be true.”

He levels his gaze toward her, his weapon still aimed at the floor. “Get dressed.”

She dresses quickly. He walks to the balcony and lets Harry in. Harry is making such a racket it’s a wonder no one has come to check on them. The dog runs immediately to Hermione’s side, teeth bared, not taking his eyes off of Draco.

He hands her a glass of water as she runs a hand along her throat. There are dark circles under her eyes, she is still shaking. “They let you bring him on the planes?”

“It’s a wonder what Nev could accomplish. Well, Neville and a limitless cheque book.”

“You mean to tell me he arranged it all?”

She nods, buttoning her dressing gown and stepping into the room, eyes wary as she skirts around him. “I will tell you everything. But, please put the gun away. I hate them.”

“I’m aware.” She always has. Draco is a lot of things, but forgetful is not one of them.

“Please, Mr. Malfoy.” He scoffs and she continues. “Fine, Draco, then. I called you because… please.”

He doesn’t believe her. She’s a liar. A good liar. And he knows she’s capable of murder. But her eyes are sincere to their depths, chocolate with flecks of honey and he remembers melting into them as a young man, barely more than a boy.

“I trusted you once before, Hermione.”

“And I’ve been keeping you safe since.”

“Me?” He laughs. “You have been keeping me safe?”

“To the best of my abilities. Until my dying breath.”

“So you murdered Neville… for me?”

“No! I loved him.”

“I thought you loved me.”

“I did. I do. I never— please, can we just start over?”

He is pacing furiously. “I’ll give you ten minutes.”

She nods, sitting on the edge of the bed. The room is warm and she is sweating, but still she drapes a blanket around her shoulders.

“I met Neville. He saved me. About a year before you came to work for him. I had run away. After you left—”

“I didn’t leave you.”

“Please don’t interrupt me. This is difficult enough. I don’t mean you left me. You left the family.”

“I didn’t leave. Your father was going to have me killed.”

“I— I didn’t find out about that until later. I didn’t know. But that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I left when I did find out. When I discovered what he’d done. I thought he’d had you…” she trails off, picking at a thread in her robes.

“I thought you were dead. I left. I ran. And Neville, he saved me.”

“I’d heard you were gone. Murdered. You went from one family to the next?”

“Don’t be so crude. Neville wasn’t like that.”

“I’m well aware of what kind of man he was.” His tone is sharp and his eyes narrow.

“Are you going to let me speak or not!”

He swallows and nods.

“I was lost after you were gone. And then to find out it was at my father’s own orders... I hated him. I had to leave. I escaped. I ran. I hid. I wandered. And I ended up with Neville. He was kind. He wanted to run things differently than his father. He loved me, Draco. And I thought you were dead. And I fell… I fell in love with him. Not right away, but I did. Before you came back.”

“Is that why he kept me at arms length? It was you?”

She’s crying now, softly, tears skimming down her cheeks and onto the full roundness of her dressing gown.

“Neville trusted you implicitly, Draco. You weren’t at arm’s length. He involved you with everything but me. It was— when I saw you the first time, I knew immediately. I had no choice but to tell him who you were. By then you’d already been working for him for a year. You’d worked your way up through the ranks. He trusted you so implicitly. He was conflicted, at first. Sad. Worried. I think he thought he might lose me. But I promised him, I loved him. I asked him to keep it from you, to keep me from you, to keep you safe. To protect us all. I did love him. I do love him.”

“I’d have never betrayed him.” He moves to sit next to her on the bed. Her head drifts to his shoulder. It’s too familiar and acid pools in his stomach.

“I never wanted you put in that position.”

“So, why did you kill him?” The acid overflows and he’s spitting his words at her.

She moves so quickly he’s nearly thrown off balance. Standing up, her arm swings back, and she slaps him hard across the face. He tastes blood on his tongue.

“You can go straight to hell, Draco Malfoy.”

“I’m sure I will.” He sneers, grabbing her wrist and yanking her up and forward. “You’ll be great company.”

Harry is at her side, teeth bared toward Draco until he drops her wrist. Harry wedges himself between them, putting distance between Draco and Hermione.

“I didn’t kill my husband.”

“Then who did?”

She laughs, eyes wide as she sinks back onto the bed and gestures around the room. Harry lays next to her feet. “How should I know? Who served to gain the most?”

“Goyle.”

“No. Goyle was there with me! He told you. He got to Neville even before I did. I came running, and he was already there, holding Neville in his arms. There was so much blood. Goyle said to go. And then I knew you were coming. And— and didn’t he tell you? But, I kept hearing Neville’s voice in my head. He said no matter what to get on that plane. To start a new life. And Goyle, he thought I did it? But…”

He is staring at her as it sinks in; he sees the dawning realization in her eyes.

“Oh my word. Draco. Gregory Goyle killed my husband.”

He tilts his head to the side.

“He— he killed him. He killed him and set me up.”

“Hermio—”

“That SONOFABITCH!”

Harry is on his feet again, head in her lap.

“He killed my husband and tried to frame me!” She’s on her feet now, fists clenched at her sides.

“Mrs. Longbottom.”

“WHAT?!”

“Calm down. Please.”

“Do NOT tell me to calm down!”

“For the baby. Please.”

She sits, shoulders heaving, gagging.

“He took it all from me. He took everything.”

She’s curled in a ball now, crying into her pillow. Great sobs wrack her body and Harry curls into her as Draco watches. It seems like hours before she is still, and he sits in the chair watching the door, watching her.

He remains there until morning. A new day. A fresh perspective. And still no idea where to begin.

 

••••••••••

 

They only have one leg remaining, no idea what lays before them. But if the last few days have been any indication, she wants it to end. Now.

Her hand is throbbing, she’s poured every alcohol over it she can find, cleaned it as best she could. The red has traveled up her arm now, and she pulls her gloves higher, sleeve lower, to keep it covered. She is sweating and freezing and she isn’t sure how much more she can endure.

“If you aren’t certain you believe me, you shouldn’t be here.” She grumbles as the co-pilot passes them each a sandwich.

“Mr. Longbottom, Mrs. Longbottom.”

“Thank you.” She nods, smiling weakly as the man proceeds back up the aisle.

“I may kill you yet.” Draco murmurs.

“Get it over with.” She wants to hit him again. “What more can I prove to you?”

“Plenty.” He sighs and adjusts in his seat. “For heaven’s sake, Hermione. Stop shaking. I won’t hurt you.”

“You’re sitting in my husband’s seat. The attendant confirmed that we purchased these before Neville died.”

“There’s a lot that still doesn’t make sense, Hermione. Where is the money?”

“What money?”

“The money missing from all the accounts. Mr. Goyle says you killed him and ran off with it. Why would he have killed Neville? To run a family with no money? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t have any money, Draco. I don’t even know how to live once I arrive, with a newborn, and no resources. I’m simply following the itinerary Neville left me.”

“He was going to run away with you and a baby, with no further plans?”

“I assume he had them!” She snaps and is frustrated to feel tears pricking at her eyes again. She’s tired and sore and exhausted.

“Do you think I want to be running halfway across the world nearly eight months pregnant? I’ve lived on sandwiches, slept on airplanes and in hotels for a week and a half now. I’ve been accused of murder, nearly murdered myself,” she can’t help but to poke him hard in the chest. “And now for days I’ve been interrogated. The questions continue on and on. I don’t know! I don’t bloody well know why or how or where!”

“Lower your voice, Hermione.” He whispers, taking her hand into his lap.

“I bloody well won’t!” She knows she should calm down, but she doesn’t know how. “Maybe because I make terrible choices in men? They leave or they die or they try to have me killed or both!”

“Are you alright, miss?”

She looks up and the co-pilot is standing there over Draco’s shoulder staring at her. Draco closes his eyes and exhales.

“Mrs. Longbottom, is everything fine? You seem distressed. You don’t look well, dearie.”

“I—” This could be her only way out. She could cause a scene. They would help her. Get her away from Draco. But he knows where she’s going now. He’d find her no matter what. She could run; she could keep running. Forever. With a newborn. And then a child. Is that any life for a child? And if he chooses to kill her? She answers incorrectly and he decides she did murder Neville?

She looks at Draco as he meets her eyes, truly looks at him for the first time since he joined her, and she’s startled. She expected cold and menace, but she sees fear and sorrow. Anguish, but not the anger she expects.

“I apologize. Just emotional at the moment. In my state and all.”

He eyes Draco warily. “Would you like to stretch your legs for a moment, dearie?”

Draco’s hand tenses around hers and she inhales sharply as he squeezes her finger.

“Yes, please. May I have some water, please?”

She stands and walks toward the cockpit, the aisle is swimming as she makes her way, and she focuses on the door of the cockpit to keep herself upright. He is blocking her from Draco’s view now as she sips the water he hands her.

“That is not your husband, Mrs. Longbottom.”

She starts, spilling water down her front.

“I beg your pardon?”

“News doesn’t travel as quickly when we’re in the air. But I caught a paper yesterday in Darwin. Neville Longbottom was found murdered the week before you joined us. The same Neville Longbottom who arranged passage with us for the two of you. And then not three days ago you’re joined with another man claiming to be him. But you see, Mrs. Longbottom, I knew your husband. And that’s not him. I waited to speak, but you seem unwell, and now I am concerned.”

Hermione is speechless. She doesn’t know where to begin and the world is cold and dark around her. She’s going to be sick. Or she may faint. She can’t see past his shoulder and the words are stuck on her tongue.

“My husband was killed. We were to make this journey together. My companion is here acting to protect me.”

“Ay, you need a lot of that from what I gather. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser to use a different name when traveling, dearie?”

She nods. It would have been.

“Are you sure he’s here protecting you? You don’t look well, not the same, since he joined us.”

He shifts and Hermione can see over his shoulder now. Draco is watching them tensely. “He will not allow any harm come to me.” She whispers. “He’s as broken over Mr. Longbottom as I am.”

The plane shakes and they drop what feels to be a hundred feet in the air. Hermione cries out and he grips her arm. “Get back to your seat. It’s not safe. We’ll be hitting a rough time.”

Draco is suddenly by her side, guiding her back to their seats. “Will there be a guard waiting for me when we land?”

She shakes her head, wiping her mouth. “I told him you were here as my protector.”

He is silent as he studies her. “Neville loved you.”

“He did.” She nods, leaning her head against the window. “And, I loved him, Mr. Malfoy.”

“He would have wanted you safe.”

She laughs, closing her eyes as dark dreams creep into the edges of her thoughts. “He did. It’s why I’m on this stupid plane, leaving everything I’ve ever known.”

She’s shivering again and swipes at a bead of sweat on her brow. Whether he chooses to believe her, or not, there is no more she can do at this point.

“You used to love me too, you know.” She whispers, unsure if he even hears her.

 

••••••••••

 

Protector.

Protect her.

Draco is warring with himself. He doesn’t have enough information. But in his gut he knows she is innocent. Neville would have wanted her safe. It’s all he himself had wanted for years. The chance to save her, to keep her safe. He’d thought that chance had been taken from him, but here it presents itself once again.

For so long he blamed himself, presuming her dead. He’d left her alone with her father after he discovered them. For years he had mourned her, but she was there all along in the shadows.

Neville had taken him in, given him a chance when no one else would. He gave him a job, a place, and his trust. And in turn, Draco trusted him, loved him. But there she was all this time, and she knew… and Neville knew and kept it from him.

Neville had seen his tears and heard his heartache, and still he kept the truth from him. He kept Hermione from him. He had always assumed Neville just didn’t fully trust him, to keep his wife so hidden away. And who could blame him? Draco had admitted not being able to protect the love of his own life.

Had he been reunited with Hermione, left the protection Neville provided, her father would have found them.

So Neville did what Draco could not. He saved them both.

She’s been asleep for two hours now, and he’s studying her intently. He hasn’t truly looked at her since that first night in the hotel room; certainly not as anything but a suspect. But as he gazes upon her now, he is worried.

Hermione is pale, sweating and shivering. There are dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes. She is moaning in her sleep and clutching her arm to her chest. The plane bounces again and her eyes shut tightly as she gasps and groans. Her head slips to his shoulder and his eyes widen at the heat. She is burning up.

Draco slides her cheek from his shoulder and leans her against the window.

“Mrs. Longbottom.”

She does not respond. His hands are on her face and neck, unbuttoning her coat. She is shaking still, shivering, he realizes, not with fright, but illness. He removes her gloves, the left first, and gasps when he gets to the right. Her hand is swollen, red streaks travel up her arm and disappear under her coat.

“Hermione.” He speaks louder and the gentleman in front of him turns to look at them.

“Is she alright?”

He shakes his head as the co-pilot exits the cabin. “We are beginning our descent now.”

Her breathing is shallow and her chest is heaving.

The man has signaled the co-pilot now who is standing over them. “What happened to her?” He looks at Draco suspiciously.

“She fell asleep. She won’t wake up. I found this,” he lifts her arm.

“Was she injured?”

“This is not new.”

“And what of her neck, Mr. Longbottom?” He jerks his chin toward the fingermarks encircling her throat, visible where Draco had unbuttoned her coat.

Draco says nothing and the co-pilot continues.

“She’s been looking worse since you joined us.”

“Accusations aside, in hindsight she wasn’t looking well when I joined her to begin with. We need to get her to a hospital.”

“We are still fifteen minutes from landing.”

“Make it ten.”

The co-pilot nods and casts him a significant look before departing. Draco draws her into his lap. She should be heavier, so far along. She’s been so bundled, he hadn’t realized. Thinking back to the first night in the shower, he’d avoided looking at her, naked before his eyes; it wasn’t his place. She was tiny then. Too small. He should have noticed.

He presses a kiss to her temple, holding her against his chest.

“Damn it, Hermione.”

The time until they land seems interminable.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Hermione’s head is pounding as she tries to open her eyes. The light is bright and she feels nauseous as she squints against the onslaught.

She’s thirsty. Everything hurts. She licks her lips tentatively and turns to the side.

He is sitting next to her bed, holding her hand as he sleeps, his head upon the mattress next to her.

“Water.” It is barely a whisper, but he’s awake immediately.

“Yes, yes, water. Of course.” He is rushing around her, pouring a glass of water and holding it to her lips.

Hermione tries to smile, but it hurts and so she grimaces instead.

“Easy. Don’t move. Just be still.”

“What—”

“Shhhh.” He is running a hand along her check and then tracing circles on her arm. It feels too familiar and she furrows her brows.

“Dra—”

“Hush, darling.” His eyes are pleading. “We’re in Australia. We made it. You passed out on the plane. You very nearly didn’t make it.”

Darling? She shakes her head, trying to understand.

The plane.

She remembers being on the plane.

She had chills.

She had cut her hand.

It was infected.

She glances down at her hand; her eyes widen. It is encased in gauze, entombed in bandages and she understands that something is very wrong.

“My hand.”

“I’m sorry, my love. They couldn’t save your finger. They were able to save the rest. So many antibiotics. You’ve been out for weeks—”

But she isn’t listening. She’s taking inventory of her body now, and as her gaze snaps to her stomach she cries out. It is strangled and her voice cracks as her good hand flies to her center.

“Jane. Jane, you must calm down. You must try to—”

“Where is my baby?” Her voice cracks as she tries to sit up.

“Jane, please.” He’s practically crying as he tries to wrest her back into the bed.

“Stop calling me that! Where is my baby!”

There are doctors and nurses running into the room now. He’s whispering in her ear: “Hermione, you must remain calm. Our lives and your child’s life depend on it. Please, please Hermione. I beg of you.”

She nods, her cracked lips burning as she bites down on them.

“Where is my baby?” She rasps.

The doctor is standing there now. “Mrs. Brown. Please, stay calm. I’ve asked Nurse Amelia to get him.”

“Him?”

He nods, smiling. “Yes, him. Your husband refused to name him until you were awake. You’ve been out for more than three weeks.”

“So early.”

“Yes, I’m afraid we had to deliver by cesarean last week. We were... uncertain you would survive, to be frank.”

“He’s—” she licks her lips. “He’s alright?”

“Tiny, yes. But a fighter. He’s fine, Mrs. Brown. You, on the other hand, gave us quite a fright.”

A woman is entering the room now and her heart skips a beat as she sees him.

“I want to hold him. Please. I want to hold my baby.”

“I’m afraid in your condition—”

“Give him to her.” It is Draco, his eyes fierce as he dares the doctor to disagree with him.

“My dear, you only have one hand!”

“She has two hands, it's only a finger. And I will be her hands, her arms, whatever she needs.”

“It is highly unusual, Mr. Brown.”

“Then give me my son. I will do it myself.”

“I want to sit up. Drac—” She pauses, realizing she has no idea what to call him. “Please.”

She winces as he props her up, helping to cradle the baby in her left arm. He is beautiful, with Neville’s eyes and her freckles scattered across his nose.

“I’ve missed so much already?”

“No.” Draco’s voice is soft. “No, he just sleeps. And eats. And I lay him with you each day.”

“It’s true.” The doctor sounds annoyed, but a hint of a smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “Every day. He lays there with you and the baby, making sure he can smell you and see you.”

She looks at Draco who is steadfastly avoiding her gaze. His cheeks are tinted red and she smiles and leans into him.

“Thank you.”

He nods.

“You will need to rest, Mrs. Brown.” The doctor is speaking again.

“Oh, but—”

Draco clears his throat. “If you will allow us but a few moments of privacy. She’s only just woken up.”

“Precisely my concern.”

“Please. I will bring him back to the nursery. Let us be, and I will take care of them both.”

There is no arguing with Draco Malf— Mr. Brown, Hermione knows. Apparently, the hospital staff does as well, because they turn and make their way from the room without further argument.

“He looks like Neville.” She is kissing his cheeks, forehead, every inch of him she can reach.

“He does. And you.”

She smiles. “He has his eyes and my freckles.” She pauses. “What of his smile?”

“Oh, he hasn’t smiled.”

She pales. He’s been sick. Or hurt. Or miserable. She’s failed already.

“No, no, no need to look like that.” Draco interrupts her. “He’s too little to smile. He just hasn’t yet. I promise. I’m sure he’s been saving it for you.”

“How much longer must we stay here?”

“You’ve been out for weeks.”

“Jane?”

“Yes.” He nods. “It’s on the paperwork Neville created. “It’s a bit of a long story.”

“I’ve got time.” She can’t stop staring at him. He’s so absolutely beautiful. But she needs to know what’s happened while she’s been sleeping.

“Why are you being nice to me?”

“I’m sorry.”

She stares at him.

“I believe you. Everything. When we arrived a man met us at the airport. I was in such a rush to get you to the hospital. He waited for two days here until I’d see him. Neville had arranged it all, you see. New papers for you, him… and me.”

“I told you he wanted you to join us.”

“At the risk of everything?”

“He trusted you.”

“And I failed him.” Draco is blinking furiously. “I doubted you. I hurt you. I followed orders instead of my heart, instead of my brain.”

“And then you brought me here. And you have kept this wee one safe and me… Thank you.”

Draco runs a hand across the baby’s cheek.

“He needs a name.”

“So do you.”

He blinks. “Oh, yes. I’m sorry. I’m John Brown and you’re Jane Brown.”

“Interesting.”

“Yes.”

She sits up, looking around. “Where is Harry?”

“At the house.”

“What house?”

“There’s so much to fill you in on. We have a house. A fairly large one. A few hours from here, but beautiful. Not too close to the city, but perfect for raising a little one.”

“He thought of everything.”

“That he did.”

“John?”

“Yes, Jane?”

“Does this mean you’re not considering killing me?”

He laughs, burying his face in his hand. “Blimey, no.”

“And you’re not leaving us?”

“Not if you’ll permit me to stay.”

She chews on her bottom lip, kissing the baby on the forehead again.

“I’d like to rest now.”

“Certainly.” He scoops the baby from her arms. “I will be here. We will.”

Her eyes are heavy as she feels his hand upon her shoulder. “You won’t leave?”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” Hermione drifts to sleep, pleasant dreams awaiting for the first time in ages.

 

••••••••••

 

“Careful, be careful.”

“I’m being careful.”

“Watch his head.”

“I’ve got him.”

“Just— just mind the door, John!”

“Jane!” He’s laughing. “I’m not going to let anything happen to him. Let me just get him inside and I’ll come back for you.”

“I can manage on my own.”

“Jane. The doctors said to take it easy.”

“I can stand and walk fifty paces to the front door.” He peeks over his shoulder as he’s unlocking the door and, yes of course she’s trying to stand out of the car.

“Hermio-JANE.” He snaps, trying not to wake the baby. “Would you please sit down for two bloody minutes!”

“Fine.”

He’s racing now, as quickly as one can race when tip-toeing across a wooden porch and into a foyer trying not to wake a 6 week old infant sleeping in their arms. Harry comes tearing out of the house and dashes up to the car. Draco is grateful he didn’t bark as he moves to the bedroom, setting Oliver on the bed and barricading him into the center with pillows.

He hurries back to the front of the house and stops dead in his tracks. There are flowers on the foyer table and he looks around in alarm. A note accompanies it and he reads it quickly.

Mr. and Mrs. Brown,

Welcome to Brown Manor! Wishing you the best in your new home.

Best Wishes,

The Williams

He puts the card back for Hermione. Mr. Williams was the solicitor who had met him at the hospital for Neville. All was as it should be.

Taking the steps in one bound, he finds Hermione sitting in the car, her legs swung out and barefoot in the grass. Harry’s head is in her lap and she’s scratching behind his ear idly.

“It’s beautiful.” She is staring at the house and grounds, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

“Wait until you see inside.” He takes her arm and helps her from the car.

“Is Oliver asleep?”

“He is.”

“Can we stay, a moment, out here? I want to see it. All of it.”

He nods. She’s trembling, weak from so many weeks in the hospital bed. “Would you like to sit on the porch?”

“No. I just want to stand here a moment longer.” She is inhaling deeply and he shifts his arm around her waist to better support her weight.

“It smells so different than London.”

“Fresh air. It’s a good place for a little one. Just watch out for the drop bears.”

Her eyes snap to his and he shrugs his shoulder and laughs.

“Very funny, Mr. Brown.”

“Do you want to see the rest?”

“I do. But not now. The drive was long and I should rest.”

They make their way up the steps slowly and she pauses at the threshold.

“It’s what I’ve always envisioned.”

“You’ve not even been inside yet.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s perfect. This porch. I’ll take tea out here. And Oliver will play there,” she points to a patch of shaded grass, “as he grows. And that tree? He will climb it and eat fresh fruits. I’ll plant a garden over there.”

“Can you garden?”

“I will.”

He laughs. “As you wish, Jane.” He turns to lead them inside when she stills his hand again.

“Is it empty?”

“No. Furnished.”

“Good.”

“Mr. Williams said Neville insisted.”

She smiles. “I hate an empty house. A home should be filled with people and memories and laughter. I don’t want to bother with the furnishings. I want to make memories. He knew that.”

“He was thorough.”

“He was.”

She is exhaling and he can see the color slowly draining from her face. “We’ve driven for hours. A nap is in order, Jane.”

“You can’t call me Hermione, even here?”

“It’s not safe. Anyone could hear us.” He lifts her from her feet and carries her to the back, to Oliver and the bedroom.

She nods against his shoulder. “Everything has faded into the past. A new name, new life, new country… new family. Those flowers are beautiful.”

“From the Williams.”

“Are they neighbors?”

“Perhaps.”

“I’ll have to make them a pie.”

“You bake?”

“I will.”

Laughter fills the house and she chuckles against his chest as he lays her next to Oliver.

“See? Laughter and memories already.”

“Stay, Harry.” He orders as the dog lies at the foot of the bed, curiously sniffing toward Oliver.

“Rest, now.” He is shaking his head as he lays the blanket atop them and walks back into the living room.

There is a thick file from Mr. Williams. He’s not yet had a chance to look through it other than to confirm their identities. Neville left extremely specific details for them though, and Draco wants to pour through it all.

He sets the kettle on the hob, waiting for Hermio— no, Jane, to wake before he boils it.

The file is thick in his hands and all encompassing. It contains their new names, identities, passports, even a birth certificate for each of them.

He scans through the envelope marked Ronald Brown. They wouldn’t need that now. He considers burning it, but decides against it. That should be Jane’s decision.

There is a deed to the house. It is in his name, and he quirks an eyebrow. Why would Neville have done such a thing?

He’s still leafing through when he finds the last three envelopes. He slides the first, labeled Regarding Jane, to the side. He will save it for Hermione, clearly marked as such.

He rolls his eyes as he reads through the second. Of course Neville took the money. And there it was, scattered into accounts across Australia. More than enough for the next three lifetimes.

He hears Oliver whimper in the next room and slides everything back into the file to put the tea on for Hermione. A new life, a new start. He owes everything to Neville.

 

••••••••••

 

The sun is warm on her neck as she sets a platter of lemonade down on the table. Oliver is crawling through the grass attempting to chase a butterfly as Harry herds him toward his mum. Birds are calling and the late morning breeze blows soft scents of orange jessamine toward them. Life, as she knows it, is good.

“Thank you.” Mrs. Williams inclines her head and accepts the proffered glass. “And for the leaves you sent me last week. The tea was delightful.”

“Lemon myrtle.” Hermione smiles. “You’re welcome to more, of course.”

“Quite. Thank you. I must say, it’s still alarming to see— how unconventionally— you and your husband manage the manor, my dear.”

It always circles back to this and Hermione has given up any annoyance over it, resigning herself to the knowledge that such conversation will always be required.

“Mr. Brown and I quite prefer it this way. We left London to escape the drudgery—”

“Your house staff was a drudgery?”

Hermione laughs. “The demands of our social life. Of running a household. No privacy—”

“A well managed staff will maintain your privacy, Jane dear. But I cannot imagine you enjoy this work yourself. Gardening and working in the kitchen. And Mr. Brown! Working around this great property.”

Hermione laughs. “Molly, don’t be so crass. Susan is inside looking after the house now. And Mrs. Black is in the kitchen. She prepared us the refreshments—”.

“Which you then carried out to us.”

“At my own insistence. And Mr. Black is working with John now.”

“On his own property!”

“Have a biscuit, Molly. We are happy. I assure you if we desire help, you will be first to know.”

She is silent for a moment and Hermione is almost convinced she will let the matter be. Oliver has wandered into the shade of the tree and is curling up on top of Harry, so Hermione stands and brushes her hands on her skirts.

“I must get Oliver for his nap now, though. It was such a pleasure to see you. Do stop by again next week?”

Hermione scoops Oliver up in her arms, bouncing him as he nuzzles into the crook of her shoulder. Harry rises and pads along behind her.

“I’ll send Susan out for the platter.” She adds with a wink. “Shall I have Mr. Black drive you home?”

“No, thank you. My car is waiting out front.”

She trods up the back steps, into the house. The smell of Mrs. Black’s cooking makes her mouth water.

“Oh, Miss! I can take him for you!”

“No, thank you, Susan. I can manage. I’d like a short rest, anyway. Please come and get me when Mr. Brown is ready to dine?”

For now, the scent of sweet baby entices her to the bedroom and she lays down with Oliver in her arms.

Six months have passed like a flash. She’s enraptured with Oliver and the joy of gazing at him is no longer overshadowed by the grief she feels over Neville. He created this life for them and she is still amazed at how well he knew her heart.

Oliver breathes in and out, sweet breath grazes her cheek and she marvels. A cleansing, a new life, provided by the sacrifice of Neville.

News reaches them sporadically, such a distance between them. They’re both identified as missing: no leads. Having disappeared without a trace makes it more difficult to keep tabs on the dangers in London. New identities protect them, and they live as inconspicuously as possible to bolster their anonymity.

The door opens behind her and she realizes she’s been dozing. Draco’s hand is gentle on her shoulder, brief and then withdrawn.

“Jane.” He whispers. “Mrs. Black was to send Susan for you.”

She stirs and stretches, rolling to her side. He is removed from the bed, a respectful distance in such an intimate space.

“You came instead.”

He nods and she knows. Hermione has been afflicted with nightmares, waking, often a catalyst. He attempts to save her from the witness of others.

“Thank you. Was your morning well spent?” She glances in the mirror, fixing the pins in her hair.

“Indeed. It is still a refreshing change to work with my hands. To produce instead of…” He trails off.

She offers him her elbow and he hesitates before taking it. Always hesitation. Always distant behind closed doors. She wonders if the facade is as exhausting for him as it is for her.

“How was your morning with Mrs. Williams? Did you create a proper scandal?”

She laughs. “I’m running out of new scandalous material. I carried a platter out for us today.”

“Positively unacceptable for your station.” His eyes are twinkling.

“Quite right. But not the first time, I’m afraid. She still wants us to attend this weekend.”

“Do you desire to do so?”

“No, I’ve no interest.

“As you wish.”

Lunch is a quiet affair and Hermione contemplates him silently.

He is more a mystery to her now than ever before. She’d felt she had know him quite well when they were young, almost children.

Grand plans to run away together were waylaid when her father discovered them. Draco’s father had kept the books for him. The Granger Family, Draco should have known better than to look at her, much less to touch her. Her father was mean, cruel, sadistic: he rose to power swiftly and nothing would stop him. Tyrannical power given to a mad man: the only family he dared not oppose were the Longbottom’s, some few counties away.

Neville’s father, more rich, more powerful, and his family as loyal as could be. He was merciless, but calculated in juxtaposition to her father’s chaotic and arbitrary wield of power.

Hermione has not known her father had discovered them until Draco was gone. She’d heard he had him dispatched. He never returned and she knew what that meant. She mourned for weeks.

Hermione was no stranger to starting over. She’d left her father’s house that night. Cut and dyed her hair, taking nothing but a small bag. It was no small miracle she hadn’t been murdered when Neville’s men caught her. No small miracle he had fallen in love with her. No miracle at all she had loved him in return.

Honesty. It had been the policy by which they lived and loved. Even when the truth was difficult, and it oftentimes was. And now here she is, living a life of secrecy in and outside of their home. It was wearing on her soul.

She’s staring at him, she realizes, again. But he seems to not notice, chewing and gazing straight out the window. He never notices.

The price of safety, she decides, has always been your soul.

 

••••••••••

 

She is staring at him again. She’s always staring these days and he has no idea what to do or say.  
He must appear quite deranged, always staring out the window, down at paperwork or intently into space while her eyes burn holes into the side of his head.

He doesn’t know what she wants from him, but whatever it is, he’d give it to her in a heartbeat if she would only just tell him.

Ms. Bones, Mr. and Mrs. Black have gone home for the evening. They’re still set on the porch, he on the rocking chair and she on the porch swing. He swirls his drink as she sips her tea, reading by the porchlight.

“Are you happy?”

He freezes, staring intently at his drink. He has no idea how to answer that question.

“I know you cannot possibly have not heard me, John. You can quit boring holes into your scotch.”

“Are you unhappy?” Perhaps he has missed some clue as to her own unrest.

“No. No,” she sets down her book. “I’ve asked you first. Are you happy?”

“If you are happy, I am happy.” A safe answer, he hopes.

“Poppycock. You’re avoiding my question.”

“Do I seem displeased?” Now he is simply confused.

“You don’t seem anything. You seem content working with Mr. Black. You seem to be quite taken by Oliver. You seem more relaxed here in Australia than I’ve ever seen you. But as to your happiness, I cannot identify anything to tell me one way or another.”

“I am all of those things.” He speaks cautiously. Draco is baffled.

“You’re happy then, living this life with Oliver and I forever? No concern for your own well being?”

She seems to be trying to start a row, and he’s unsure as to what he’s done, or perhaps hasn’t done.

“We are safe in Australia; you, Oliver and I. I am happy to not spend each day looking over our shoulders.”

“And that is enough then, is it? To be safe?”

Tiny alarms are ringing in the back of his head. “It is.”

“Draco Malfoy you are a liar!”

He’s on his feet, glancing left and right as he strides toward her and stops the swing in one fell motion.

“Have you lost it entirely? We are outside!” He hisses.

“I’m suffocating, John!”

He inhales sharply and steps back. Has he been too forward, too close? He has tried to give her the space she needs, never pushing or overstepping. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? Why are you sorry?”

“For whatever I’ve done that has given you cause to grieve.”

She scoffs. “You are impossible. You’ve done nothing. This is my concern: a wife, John.”

She keeps spitting his name like a curse and he flinches as she stands up and pokes him in the chest.

“I’m afraid I do not understand, Jane.”

“This is enough for you? To live the rest of your life as we have these past nine months? Married, a farce, no wife or happiness of your own in the future?”

So this is it. She wants to be free, to find a marriage of love. His throat is dry and his stomach twists.

“Is that what you wish? For me to leave you to find happiness?”

“Oh, I could scream! You used to love me, Draco.” She whispers his name and it feels like a knife in his heart. “You would have died for me. And I for you.”

“I still would. I am, Hermione.” He knows he should stop speaking, but something inside of him snaps and after years of silence he can’t stop talking if he tried.

“I’m dying every day! Living this lie, conjured up because the man to whom I owe everything set me up to care for his wife, the woman I’ve loved since childhood, and their child as my own. And so I do! Every bloody day. I get up and set to work to keep my mind from you. I find every project to keep my hands busy because I find myself reaching out to touch you. And it kills me, Hermione. It kills me to betray Neville and you and myself all at once and I’m losing my damned mind because I will live the rest of my life like this if it means keeping you safe and being near you. So yes, YES, if this is what life is, then I am happy and no, I don’t want anyone else. Unless—” he’s blinking now, his chest burning with emotion straining to bubble over.

“Unless you do. Unless you’ve found someone, or want to find someone. If that’s what you want, just tell me, Hermione. I’ll do whatever you need to keep you safe, for you to be happy. Just—”

Her lips are warm and her hands are soft and both are upon him before he can blink. He gasps and she presses forward, her tongue and her hands dancing as she rises onto her tiptoes.

“Touch me.” It is a whisper, but a command so powerful he can’t help but comply.

He’s pressing her against the front door now, reaching for the knob.

“Inside.” He murmurs against the soft flesh of her neck and she moans as the door clicks open.

She’s fumbling with his buttons, cursing her hand, but her mouth is against his neck and he can’t think straight. She’s warm and soft and perfect. It’s everything he hasn’t allowed himself to imagine, hidden in the shadows of his heart, away from the light lest she know.

He knows it should feel like betrayal, but it doesn’t. It feels right and he’s fairly certain this is everything he’s ever wanted. She’s everything he’s ever wanted in one small package. A spitfire of a woman, a partner, a friend. They’re alone in the world but they can face anything together and he realizes that if this starts, if it happens, it’ll never stop.

“Jane.”

She ignores him, a satisfied smirk on her face as she finally pushes the shirt from his shoulders.

“Jane, stop.”

He pulls away from her and watches as uncertainty flashes across her face. She pulls him in closer, scattering kisses along his face. “What?”

“Unless you’re certain. Unless you’re absolutely certain, I can’t do this. We can’t go back. I can’t stop this once we’ve started. We can’t go back to before.”

“Draco—”

“John.” He challenges her and she smiles.

“John, if you try to go back to before, so help me, I’ll murder you myself.”

“This is what you want?”

“This is what I want!” She’s fierce and determined and he doesn’t know how to resist her when every ounce of passion he’s known her to have is there and alive and for him.

“But, Neville—”

“But, Neville nothing. He’s gone, John.”

There are tears in her eyes and this isn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want to upset her. He’ll do anything to stop her tears because that’s what he’s always done, what he’s always wanted.

“This is what I want.” His voice cracks and he’s embarrassed, but he can’t control it.

“Is it Neville, then?”

He can’t meet her eyes. “I can’t help but feel I’m betraying him.”

She stares at him for so long he finally looks up. But, she looks confused and he’s unsure as to why.

“Did you not read his letter?”

“There was no letter.”

She steps backward and he’s suddenly cold.

“You left it on my desk. I assumed you had read it… All this time I thought you were—” But then Oliver is crying and she turns to attend him.

Draco stands there for what feels like hours. The clock ticking by the minutes as the evening fades away into the early morning hours. He finally retires.

It is perhaps after two when a light knock sounds upon his door. He looks up from his chair and watches as a letter slides under the door.

“Regarding Jane”

He’d left it for her those many months ago. It wasn’t for him, he’d have never looked.

The parchment is wrinkled and has very clearly been read time and time again. He notices the splotches in the corner and the ink smudged. It’s been creased, folded and unfolded.

It feels intimate, as if he’s intruding upon something he has no right to. But here it is now, open, and she’s asked him to read it.

My dearest Hermione,

If you are reading this, I am no longer with you.

Draco closes his eyes and runs a hand across his face. Neville had known.

My days are numbered and I know not who to trust as my friends become threats and my enemies loom ever nearer.

Of two things I am certain: my love for you and my trust in Mr. Malfoy. You were not mistaken when you beseeched me to trust in him. A man of integrity, a rarity in the field he has chosen, but true nonetheless.

I have arranged passage, as I told you, for the three of us. Safety and new identities await in Australia. You’ve dreamt of a new life and I have listened to your musings. If these are my final breaths, I give them to you and your dreams. I give them to our child and the hopes of a new life. You shall not want, though it is not in your nature to do so.

You are a far better woman than I have ever deserved. Your word is your bond and I have never doubted you. The number of days in which we have lived and loved together is shorter than I would ever wish, but more than I could ever have hoped for.

If I arrive safely with you in Australia, I will tear this to pieces and set it swiftly in the fire. I am selfish enough to know that I could not endure a life without you.

If I do not make the journey with you, I know that Mr. Malfoy will find you. I know that you have never stopped loving him. I know that he will never stop loving you. I know at what cost your love for me came to both of you.

If I cannot be there to protect and carry you through these next years, I beg of you: let him love you.

My heart and love undying are yours for all of time,

Nev

He’s on his feet and at her door before the parchment hits the floor. The door is closed, but as he lifts his hand to knock, it opens and she is standing there.

“I didn’t know.” He shakes his head, drawing her forward. “I swear to you, I didn’t know.”

“And now?”

“This changes everything.”

 

••••••••••

 

Hermione has never been a fan of change. Change brings the unpredictable, and in a life that has been filled with but fleeting moments of stability, she has grown to appreciate the comfort of predictability. Change means chaos, and generally pain.

Except this time. This change has been miraculous and Hermione spends each waking moment wondering when she will wake from the dream of this life.

John is good. Hermione had known true happiness with Neville. With his passing, she expected that such a phenomenon would never occur twice in her lifetime. But here she is: Jane has a second chance and she has no intention of letting it pass her by.

Life has changed. She is Jane and he is John and they live sixteen thousand kilometers from where they began, but it is beautiful and it is theirs.

“You’ll be coming to a year here now, ma’am.”

“A year for us, a year for Oliver.”

“What kind of cake shall I bake him, Mrs. Brown?”

Jane shakes her head vehemently. “No, I’d like to make it myself, please.”

“You’d like to try baking again?” She sounds nervous and Jane tries not to take offense.

“I would. Though, I’d be happy if you guide me.”

“Perhaps a practice or two before the big day then?”

“That would be lovely.”

And so a new tradition is born: a birthday celebration for Oliver and the anniversary of their new lives. Each year Jane bakes a cake, some more successfully than others.

The years pass with relatively little ceremony. John toils, fixes and creates, while Jane gardens and learns her way around the kitchen.

“I’d say it’s your best yet, Mrs. Brown!”

She is beaming because it does, indeed, look as if this years cake is a success. “Fourth time’s the charm?”

Mrs. Black laughs and nods in agreement, setting about cleaning up the kitchen. “I’ll just put it in the icebox so it will keep until Sunday. Are you certain you need nothing else today, ma’am?”

“I’m quite certain. John, Oliver and I will have an early supper and enjoy a leisurely day tomorrow.”

“It doesn’t feel right, taking a day off like this; leaving you all alone with preparations.”

“And yet, I insist each year, and it pleases me.” Jane wraps her arm around her in a brief hug.

John is behind Jane and she gasps with surprise as he lifts her into the air and brushes a kiss to her temple.

“I’ve to head into town. I need a few more bits for Oliver’s birthday surprise.”

“The playhouse?”

“Tree house.”

“Four is awfully young, don’t you think, John?”

“There’s a railing. I’ll take Ms. Bones and Mr. and Mrs. Black home on my way.”

“She’ll be home alone?” Mrs. Black frets.

“I have Harry. I feel perfectly content in our home, Mrs. Black. I’ll watch your roast and make certain not to over cook it.” She nods toward the oven.

“But it’s a two hour drive into town. You’ll barely be back before dinner, Mr. Brown.”

“The more time to spend in my garden.” Jane is amused and John chuckles.

“A scandal: home alone, my dear.”

“Write it in the ledger.” She kisses him as they walk out the door. “I’ve a surprise when you return. Don’t be too late.”

Oliver naps after lunch and she relishes in the silence. Her garden is blooming and she’s fascinated by the butterflies, birds and bees that frequent her crops.

Four years, and she still can’t quite accept how different it is here than in London. She loves the scent of fresh air, the feel of grass between her toes and the warm sunshine beating down upon her face. Her hands in the dirt remind her that the world is alive, always changing and growing. She smiles, a hand on her own midsection, feeling connected to this mystery of life.

Once Oliver has woken he sets about with Harry by his side. Oliver is busy in play: creating, building, exploring and learning about this great world she promised him. She can watch easily from the porch or even the window, but she is confident in Harry’s judgement and knows he will let no harm come to her son, despite Oliver’s best efforts.

“Watch him closely, Harry. I’ll be back in a moment.”

The house is dark and she realizes she’s forgotten to turn on the lights before they went out for the afternoon. It takes only a moment, and then the roast is in the oven.

There is a chill in the air. She hears Oliver giggling out of sight with Harry and decides to pause to put the kettle on.

John will be properly over the moon at the idea of an addition to their family. He’s in love with Oliver, the sun rises and sets upon him in John’s eyes. He’s never given any indication he is anything but content with their lives. But she knows he will be overjoyed and cannot wait to tell him.

“Mummy!” Oliver calls as she grabs a teacup from the shelf.

“I’m inside, dear. Just a moment!”

“Okay, mummy! But, there’s a man here to see you!”

Her hand is on the kettle and she pauses. They aren’t expecting any deliveries or assistance today. And John would never send someone when he is away.

“Just a minute!” She calls as she sets the kettle down, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

The sun will soon be setting she realizes as she steps off the porch and rounds the corner of the house. She smiles though, knowing that John will be home soon.

“Hello, Mrs. Hermione Longbottom. You’re a difficult woman to find.”

The smile is gone and ice water has replaced the blood in her veins because Gregory Goyle is standing over Oliver, and she cannot breathe.

 

••••••••••

 

John isn’t in town very often. He and Jane prefer to spend their time at home. Were their economic station not so assured, he knows there would be further backlash. But, they are friendly and helpful to their neighbors in times of need. It’s just become accepted that they do things a bit differently.

When he is in town though, word spreads like wildfire.

“John!”

He turns around on his stool and smiles at the familiar face.

“Blaise! I hadn’t heard you would be in town. You should have written.”

“It was a last minute necessity. I leave for France again tomorrow. There was no time to come and see you this journey, my friend.”

“Jane will be sorry she missed you. We’ve Oliver’s party on Sunday.”

“But, he cannot be four so soon? It is my great sorrow to miss such a special day. Please, tell Jane I will love to be there among friends again soon.”

“I will, certainly. Will you sit and have a drink with me now?”

It is easy to pass time. Blaise was perhaps the first true friend John made here in Australia since they arrived. But business brought him so infrequently these days that their reunions were few and far between.

“I should be heading out now, my friend. I need to return to Jane and Oliver for dinner.”

“You will certainly be dining late this evening then, my friend!” Blaise laughs and claps him on the back.

The barman taps John on the shoulder and he turns. “It’s the post. They have a telegram for you, apparently.”

“A telegram for me?”

The barman nods.

“How very strange. I wonder who would be sending word instead of calling.”

“Someone far off, I’d imagine.” Blaise shrugs as they gather their belongings.

“You’re the only one we speak with out of the country.”

It’s true. Only one other person knew they were here, and Theodore wouldn’t have told a soul. They hadn’t spoken since they arrived. It was a short call, such a distance, but he’d needed to leave no evidence and a letter wouldn’t do. Draco told Theodore he wouldn’t be returning, he’d never hear from him again. His only childhood friend, the only one who’d known he had left in pursuit of Hermione. When he’d hung up, he’d been John forevermore.

They walk toward the post office together.

“Thank you.” He takes the envelope from the man and heads back outside.

“Oh, that reminds me! There were two Englishmen earlier, looking for a man and a woman from London. Thought it might be you, but the names were wrong.”

“Oh?” John is putting his hat on as he turns out the door to pick up his purchases and return home.

“Yes, looking for a Draco Malfoy and Hermione Longbottom. No one had ever heard of them.”

John freezes. “What did you say?”

“Well, we told them the only two English we had around here were you and Mrs. Brown, and your little boy, of course.”

“How long ago was this, Blaise?”

“About three hours.”

His eyes flit to the envelope in his hands and he tears it open.

Goyle en route stop  
Leave immediately stop  
Theo

“Blaise, I need you to call my house. Tell Jane to leave. Tell her take Oliver and go to the Williams’ immediately. Tell her Goyle is here.”

“But—”

“Please, Blaise. It’s life or death. Now.”

 

••••••••••

 

“Oliver, come to mummy.”

“You look well, Hermione.” He is kneeling, tying a rope to Harry’s collar as Oliver scampers toward her. Harry moves to follow, but finds himself tied to the tree.

“Oliver, I want you to go inside to your room and play, please.”

“But—”

“No arguments, my love. You must listen to mummy now.”

“Oh, has he met granddad yet?”

She grabs Oliver’s hand to stop him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you send him inside, he’ll meet him. But I thought you might want to do the introductions yourself.”

Her mind is racing. Neville’s father is dead. But it couldn’t be…

“Come along, Mrs. Longbottom. Or is it Granger again? Or Malfoy? Or, was it Brown we’ve heard?”

The air seems too thick to breathe.

“Mummy, not without Harry!” Oliver is pulling against her arms, reaching for him. Harry is whining and barking, struggling against the rope.

“Release me at once!” Goyle’s hand is firmly around her elbow and she pulls against him. The telephone is ringing inside.

“I’d hate for the little one to see you meet the wrong side of my hand, Hermione. I suggest you walk.”

No one is here. John isn’t due home for another hour at least. Harry is tied to the tree and though he’s fighting against his restraints, it appears futile. She wants to cry, but she doesn’t want to frighten Oliver.

“He’s missed you all these years.”

They’re walking up the steps to the house now. Hermione is searching for anything to help them. The phone continues ringing and she is blinking back tears.

“I wish I could say the same.”

And then he is there.

“Hermione, my darling daughter.”

Her mouth is dry and she swallows, holding Oliver’s head against her shoulder.

“And is this my grandson? Unifying the Granger and Longbottom families. Oh what a smart lass you always were.”

He reaches out to take him and Hermione hisses. “Don’t you touch him.”

“Mummy?”

“You stay with me, Oliver. Don’t go with anyone.”

“I hear it’s your birthday this weekend.”

Oliver nods and Hermione finds herself thrown forward to the floor as Gregory kicks her in the back of the knees. Her father catches Oliver before he hits the floor and she cries out.

Oliver turns, reaching back for her, crying out her name. She hears Harry barking madly outside over the ringing phone. She wants to throw up.

“I brought you a present.”

Oliver’s eyes light up and he turns toward her father. Goyle grabs a fistful of her hair, hauling her back to her feet. The phone ceases its ringing.

“Are you really my granddad?”

“No—” she starts to argue, but Gregory elbows her hard in the stomach and she doubles over coughing.

“Yes.” Her father walks toward the kitchen, out of sight with Oliver. “I found a cake here for you.”

“Oliver stay with mummy!”

“Mummy’s going to catch up with our friend, Mr. Goyle. Why don’t you have a piece of cake with Granddad Granger?”

“I’m not supposed to until my birthday.”

“Oh, I think it will be fine to eat now. Isn’t that right, dear?” He shouts from the kitchen.

“Yes. Yes!” She chokes out, Goyle’s hand around her throat as he drags her toward the front of the house.

“It was awfully difficult tracking you down, I must say. Neville did a great job of that.”

He throws her forward into the parlor, blocking the entryway as she stumbles to her feet.

“He loved us. He wanted us far away from the lot of you!”

“I suppose you didn’t love him quite as equitably, playing whore to his best friend just days after his death?”

She slaps him so hard her hand stings and he blinks, wiping a smear of blood from his lip.

“Oh, but that’s right. You’ve loved our Draco all along haven't you? Your father told me. If I’d have known the connection before, I’d have never sent him after you. Did Neville know?”

“Neville knew everything.”

“And he was amenable to his wife whoring herself out to his enforcer— ah ah ah.” He grabs her wrist as she reaches forward to slap him again. “Next time, I hit back.”

“What do you want?”

“It is not a matter of my desires, but of your father’s. It took an awful lot of planning to dispatch of Mr. Longbottom, you see. Everyone really loved him. To set you up for his murder? Oh, that was my idea.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Yes, thank you. Now be quiet. You see, I hadn’t counted on him planning so quickly, so effectively. Before I could act, you were gone. Who were we to pin his death on then?”

“Seeing as you were the one who murdered him—”

He shoves her into the chair against the wall. “I said stop speaking. Where was I? Oh yes. The Great Neville Longbottom, killed by his wife. It was perfect. Until your father saw your photo. It was unfortunate Neville kept you so hidden… though, it makes sense as to why now.”

He wipes his brow before continuing. “Your father was enraged, of course… Until I mentioned you were with child when you left. Well, he couldn’t very well have the the child connecting the two greatest families murdered. It wasn’t until Mr. Malfoy never returned, disappeared without a word, that your father put it all together. A brilliant man he is! What a pretty story it paints: star crossed lovers, the wife and the right hand of the Great Neville Longbottom, conspiring together to rid themselves of the only obstacle in their way.”

“No one will believe you.” She can hear Harry’s continued barking, her father’s booming voice and Oliver’s laughter distantly through the house. At least he is safe for the time being.

“Oh, but they will! The papers love a scandal, and Mr. Longbottom’s murder is still a mystery!”

“We’ve been gone for years. Why do you even need us?” Harry’s mad barking suddenly stops and she tilts her head to try and hear him.

“We don’t need you. We need the money. Why do you think your father and I went to all this trouble to begin with? Oh, Hermione. Certainly you can’t be so foolish as to—”

“Jane?” Her eyes widen. Mrs. Williams’ voice is at the front door.

“Are you there? Blaise called. We’re awfully worried, dear.”

“Get rid of her.”

“How do you suppose I do that?”

He shoves her toward the door. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Hermione swallows, stumbling toward the door.

“Oh, Jane. There you are! We’ve been calling!”

“My apologies. I was lying down.”

“And this, my dear, is why you need a full household staff. Blaise called, he said John is on his way home, but that you and Oliver are to come with us as quickly as possible. A Mr. Goyle is here, whatever that means.”

Her father is standing there now, Oliver in his arms with a mouthful of cake. “That won’t be necessary. I’m here to assist my daughter.”

“Your— your daughter? Are you Mr. Goyle?”

Her father groans and opens the door wider, allowing Gregory to stand between them. He turns away quickly and shields Oliver’s eyes and ears as he walks from the room.

“No, I am.”

Hermione starts to scream, to push her away, to tell her to run, but it is too late. Goyle lifts his arm and the shot rings out. She drops heavily to the porch, a pool of blood growing around her head.

Hermione is screaming and turns to run for Oliver who is crying now. Harry is barking again and she turns, seeing him bounding into the house, Mr. Williams hot on his heels.

“Molly!” He is screaming as he runs, eyes wide.

“Oh, bother.” Gregory sighs as he raises his arm and fires another shot directly into his chest. He falls forward unmoving, but her father is shouting from the kitchen and Harry is growling.

Hermione races deeper into the house and trips over Oliver as he tears crying into her arms. She scoops him up and runs straight into the garden, making for the trees behind their house. It is a distance, but perhaps she can make it to the Williams’.

Branches are tearing at her hair and clothes. Harry is growling and barking madly in the distance, and then he is yelping, crying and finally, silent.

She pushes onward, hearing Gregory and her father shout after her. Oliver is sobbing into her shoulder and she’s trying to comfort him and run.

The ground is uneven and she sprawls forward when her foot catches a root. Oliver goes down with a thud and doesn’t move.

She is screaming. She knows she needs to be silent, but she can’t help the anguish as it tears from her throat.

“She always was a runner.” She hears her father mutter as she watches him tear Oliver from her arms.

Something hard collides with the side of her head and the world goes black.

 

••••••••••

 

He’s been filled with panic as he races back to the house. A wholly unfamiliar sense of emotion and fear driving him to the brink of his sanity. His very skin feels aflame as the trees race by at dangerous speeds. John is filled with terror.

Everything changes immediately though, and the familiar sense of detachment from the world overtakes him as he creeps up the front step. The house is entirely dark and there are no sounds inside. His foot connects with something solid on the ground; he knows instantly what it is, if not who. Draco is back.

Shadows flit across the body lying in a pool of blood as the moonlight flickers through the clouds. Mrs. Williams.

Creeping through the foyer into the house, a lone light shines from the kitchen. Mr. Williams.

He glances sideways. There is Harry, lying unmoving on the ground, the metal of a kitchen knife glinting from his side. His last hope. Their last defense in his absence. The breath leaves his body.

“Pack up the boy. He’ll be fine, just knocked cold. When Draco arrives, take them both out. We’ll leave town with him first flight tomorrow.” Mr. Granger. A voice he had hoped to never hear again.

Draco slips silently back out the front door as they make their way up the back porch and into the house. He’s on the roof and over the window in the center of the house soundlessly. He knows every inch of this house, he’s worked on it with his own hands.

“What’ll we do with her?” Goyle. His blood runs hot.

“Wait until she wakes. I want her to say a proper goodbye to the boy.”

“Proper?”

“She will, if she knows it’s the last time she’ll see him. And it’ll make it easier on us if he thinks it’s with her blessing.”

Draco wants to throw up. He’s watching, hidden in the recesses of the roofline as Granger lays Oliver gently on the couch. In the reflection of the pane he sees Goyle carry Jane down the hall and into their bedroom, tossing her onto the bed. Her head lolls to the side and he can see a trickle of blood running down the side of her face.

He’s going to kill them.

Goyle is tearing through the room now, throwing Oliver’s belongings into a bag at the foot of the bed. His favorite bear, the sweater he wore at Christmas. The bile rises in his throat and his eyes narrow.

In their bedroom now, Draco can no longer see them. He crawls silently across the roof until Hermione and Goyle are within his sights. He’s rummaging through their personal effects, photographs of the three of them, reading letters and-- shite.

“You’ll want to look at this!”

An envelope, Regarding Jane, is there in his hands. Mr. Granger strides into the room, taking the letter. His eyes narrow as he’s reading.

“He set it all up.”

“We only just beat him to the punch.”

“The money must be here.” He’s rifling through the folder and Draco swears, knowing he should have destroyed it all. Sentimental fool.

“Ah.” A smile spreads across his face as Hermione groans, stirring on the bed. Granger glances at her and stuffs the documents into his jacket pocket.

“Get the car, Goyle. I’ll bind her. We’ll take care of him as soon as he arrives and leave the lot.”

Goyle saunters from the room and Draco spares a glance toward Hermione as her father drags her from the bed toward the chair in the corner. He slides down the side of the house and follows Goyle on foot.

Big and oafy, Draco can’t even begin to understand how he’s ever been described as stealthy. He lumbers down the road for what feels like an eternity, walking a kilometer and a half before they come to an overgrown area where Goyle slips off the road. His hand is on the car door when Draco hits him from behind. He falls to his knees and Draco takes the gun from his hands.

He’s fast and Goyle is slow, eyes widening only momentarily in surprise before Draco pulls the trigger. The shot rings out and he prays it’s too far from the house, muffled by the brush, to be heard.

Draco leaves him there, dead in the ditch. He’ll explain to the authorities later, but for now he takes the car and races back to the house.

He pulls silently into the driveway, gun at the ready, peering ahead. No one is there and so he peers through the front window. Oliver is gone now.

He opens the door and hears Hermione sobbing.

“You’ll be a good boy for granddad, my love. Mummy loves you so, so much. And daddy and I will see you again soon.”

Draco allows the door to click shut audibly behind him and Granger shouts. “What took you so long? Hurry up. We’re just saying our goodbyes.”

He pads heavily on the wooden floor trying to mimic Goyle’s gait. He hears Hermione speaking faster.

“You’ll love London, baby. It’s different than here, but lovely. And mummy and daddy will be there soon.”

He peeks through the crack in the door. Granger’s back is to him as he kneels before Hermione. Oliver is in her lap, his face buried in her hair. Hermione’s arms are wrapped tightly around him. He realizes her legs must be tied to the chair beneath her skirts.

Granger shouts over his shoulder again, reaching for Oliver as he stands. “I’ll go ahead with the boy. You wait for Malfoy.”

Time slows to a standstill as Oliver screams, clinging to his mother. Draco catches Hermione’s eyes and they widen in realization.

It all happens at once as Granger follows her gaze, spinning to see Draco, his gun raising as he stands. Hermione throws herself forward, using her body to shield Oliver and throwing Granger off balance. He shoots and misses as Draco steps properly into the room.

He fires once.

He doesn’t miss.

And it is over.

Draco is on his knees, untying Hermione and clutching them both to his chest. She’s sobbing and Oliver is clinging to her.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Is all he can repeat.

Sirens are blaring in the distance and he shudders, lifting them both into his arms and walking through the house. He steps over the bodies littering the floor and walks toward the front door.

Sinking to the step, he holds them tightly, the weight of this new reality settling on him.

It is over.

It is done.


End file.
